When Your Mind's Made Up
by Bernard O'Hare
Summary: This fiction takes place in Dublin from the moment on the bridge and follows Ste and Brendan back to the hotel, filling in some of the 'missing moments' from that night.


_The title for this story is based on 'The Swell Season's song 'When Your Mind's Made Up,' which pretty much reminds me of Ste and Brendan every time I listen to it. The fiction takes place in Dublin from the moment on the bridge and follows Ste and Brendan back to the hotel, filling in some of the 'missing moments' from that night. Enjoy!_

**-When Your Mind's Made Up-**

You look into his deep blue eyes and you feel like you're drowning in their depths.

Everything seems to have led to this moment. Everything in your whole God damn life has led to this moment; him standing before you, open and honest and silently asking you to love him with tears sparkling in his eyes, trailing down his cheeks and leaving thin traces of moisture in their wake. He looks so vulnerable and you want to wrap him in your arms and never let hurt or despair touch him again…but you can't. Not right now, anyway, because there's something you have to say and you're afraid that the words will fail you if you wait a moment longer.

"Why are you here?" He asks, voice trembling because the lump in his throat is choking him.

He avoids your gaze for a moment and you're certain that if he could only bring himself to look into your eyes then he wouldn't even have to ask the question, because the answer is plain to see. The answer has been right in front of him all this time, if only he'd looked for it.

Now is your moment.

Now is the time to tell him what you've wanted to tell him for so long: from the moment you left him lying on your living room floor the day Eileen caught you with him. You remember desperately trying to appease her with lies and reassurances as she threatened to burn your whole World to the ground. If only you'd known at that time what such a careless move would cost you -that it would completely destroy the tiny sliver of happiness you'd found with him- then perhaps you would not have been so quick to follow her that day. Perhaps you would have gone with him to America when he was foolish enough to give you the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps…

Now he is before you, asking you why you're here, and so you tell him;

"Because I love you..."

You feel a wash of relief flow over you as the words fall from your lips. Your body aches with the euphoria that comes with speaking the God damn truth for once in your life.

The reflection from the lights on the bridge hit his eyes and they sparkle in the night, igniting a fire within you so strong that you can barely contain the flames. Everything about him is hypnotic to you; from the way his mouth falls slightly open in awe as the words he's been desperate to hear fall effortlessly from your lips, to the way he looks at you. Fuck, the way he looks at you is like every dream you've ever dared to hope would come true. Is this even real? You don't want to question it in case the illusion shatters, feeling so fragile at this moment that it might break with even the slightest provocation.

"Because I can't live my life without you…"

You think back to your adolescence -when you didn't even know he existed and life seemed like a constant black hole of misery- and you wonder how you managed to make it through those years without him. You think back to those moments you saw him lying in that hospital bed -the day you almost lost him for good- with tubes and wires linked through him and around him, the only thing keeping him alive being a machine by his bedside. You knew at that moment that if you lost him, you would never find yourself again.

"I love you, Steven."

And you do love him. You love him so much it hurts -the most exquisite pain you've ever felt- and you can't think of a moment in time when you didn't love him. As you utter those words to him, your tone void of any romanticism and your heart aching with the need to make him believe it, you're almost positive that no words spoken have ever been more truthful.

You're not a sentimental man and you never have been. When you were a teenager the few brief, stinted relationships you'd ever had with a woman always ended when you refused to show her even the most basic forms of affection. When the eyes of the public leered at you, you would grab her hand and whisper in her ear and play the role of the 'normal' man. However, behind closed doors you would brush off her advances; give her the cold shoulder and refuse to humor her in any form of touch that would leave you feeling cold and empty afterwards. As time passed the girls would finally realize that you were not their knight in shining armor, you were not what they'd always dreamed of, you were not a man at all.

When you met Eileen you thought things would be different. She wasn't like all the other girls you'd known; she had a foul mouth and could knock back a pint with more vigor and speed than some of the guys you hung around with. Eileen was pretty, but she didn't spend her time looking in mirrors like other women; she liked to get into fights and she wasn't afraid to put you in your place. There was something about her, something boyish and aggressive and challenging that made you think that perhaps this girl was different. Perhaps you could put aside the fantasies that you'd harbored in secret for years; fantasies where you would pull a body close to yours that was strong, hard and toned rather than soft and fragile. You thought she was the one for you because she seemed like the perfect mix of what you wanted and what you believed you should want.

When you pulled Eileen close and told her you wanted to be with her, her eyes shone with hunger and fire. It reminded you of a man's gaze. When you closed your eyes to kiss her the alcohol that ran through your system filled you just enough to strengthen your imagination and you tried to erase the soft feel of her breasts against your chest, as her body pressed against yours. However, when you pulled back and opened your eyes to take in the sight of her, your heart constricted in your chest as the illusion shattered. Imagination could only do so much. You felt nothing.

Now here, with him standing before you, you think back to that moment. Back to that moment in the bar, with your future wife pinned against you, where you wished that her arms were strong and comforting rather than soft and yielding. Back when you wished so badly for the fear to be squeezed out of you by the solid arms of a man, yet felt repulsed by the very thought of wanting it. You can't help but realize now that, after what felt like a lifetime of fear, you are no longer afraid.

"I love you, too," he replies.

His eyes are fixed on you as he utters the words that make your heart fall down into your stomach and your eyes sting with the threat of tears. Your throat suddenly feels tight with the lump wedged in it and the feelings you never thought you were capable of feeling soar through you with such ferocity that you can barely contain them. Even in this moment you find it hard to show emotion, stuck in the habit of a lifetime by trying to repress every and all traces of sentimentality, yet not even _you_ –Brendan fucking Brady- can help the slight sheen of moisture that films your eyes as you look at him and hear him utter those words to you. Words you never thought you'd hear again.

You used to think that a love like this didn't exist… you were wrong.

You step towards him until you are in the middle of the bridge and the light from the moon cascades down over your face as you look at him. At this moment you are the only two people in the World. He remains still as you step towards him, close enough to touch, and you want nothing more than to tell him all the things you've been dying to tell him in the year and months you've been apart… but you don't. Instead you look him in the eyes and say;

"I'm going to kiss you now… come here."

You've wanted this since the moment you opened the door of your hotel room and saw him standing there; a ghost from another lifetime. You couldn't though, not with the Big Guy watching like a hawk, not after you swore to stay away from him; so you spewed venomous words designed to hurt him and threw his feelings for you back in his face. The look in his eyes as he listened to you mock him, pretending that you didn't want all the things he wanted, made you want to die. It worked though, he left; but as you sat in your room, clutching your whiskey glass like it was an oxygen tank, you couldn't stop seeing his face in your mind's eye. You saw his lips and wanted to kiss them, you saw his eyes and wanted to hold him, you saw his hair and wanted to touch the strands… he was driving you insane. You tried to remain true to your word, God knows you tried, but in the end you couldn't help yourself and –like Adam and Steve in the Garden of Eden- you had to bite the apple.

You motion out with two fingers and beckon him closer.

He drops his bags and walks towards you, face caught in an expression of weakness that tells you he is powerless to resist this moment; that he couldn't say no if he tried. If you were foolish enough you could almost convince yourself that he'd wanted this for as long as you had.

Maybe he had.

He steps towards you and you reach out and place your hand gently behind his neck, then pull him in until you catch his lips with your own. At this moment, all the time you've been apart from him seems like a lifetime and your hunger for him becomes insatiable. You are sure that no matter how long you kiss him it won't be enough to make up for all the time you've lost and so you kiss him hard, urging him forward with your hand on his neck, afraid that he might disappear into any empty space between you.

You open your mouth and feel a shiver run up your spine as he lets his tongue sweep against yours. The heat of his mouth, warm and slick and familiar against your own, feels like home. You let out a low moan as your free hand reaches up to cup his face and you are astounded at how gently you hold him in your hands. Never in your life have you treated another man with this much care, as if he might break at any second. At this moment you are afraid that he might evaporate with a single careless touch.

Suddenly you feel him push against you and press his lips hard to yours, reminding you with a fierce jolt that he is not breakable. He reaches up between you both and slides his hand behind your head before pulling you into him, then he lets his tongue delve deep into your mouth with a hunger that reminds you of a greedy child. You feel the possessiveness coursing through him as his needy hands explore your body and you know that he wants to make you his. He wants you to know that you belong to him. You already know that you do.

After a few minutes you part from him; foreheads pressed together as you slowly catch your breath. You try to gather the strength to separate yourself from him entirely and make your way back to the hotel, but each attempt is thwarted by the multitude of kisses that you place on his lips when you try to open your mouth. You place several small kisses on his lips, one after the other, and he smiles at you and shakes his head like he can't believe this is real. Part of you is afraid it's not and so you kiss him again, afraid that the vision might disappear; you're surprised when it doesn't. He's still here. This is real.

"Right, you going to help me with these bags or what?" he says with a grin, raising his arms and presenting his luggage to you.

You smile at him and the expression feels alien to your lips. You idly wonder how long it's been since you last smiled like this -last felt like this- and your mind draws a blank. You grab the bags from his hands and give his bicep a light touch,

"Would be my pleasure, Steven," you smile, "can't have you exhausted before we get back to the hotel."

He raises an eyebrow at you and his mouth falls open at the insinuation;

"Oi! Cheeky," he smiles.

You see his eyes set on you as his tongue pokes out of his mouth and slowly runs along his lips, inviting you to taste. You feel paralyzed by the thought of touching him again. The thought of feeling his writhing body beneath you and pulling you close as he moans your name aloud, just like you remember, makes your flesh tingle. For a moment you wonder if he called _his _name in bed, but immediately you scratch the thought from your mind. You don't want to think about their relationship right now, you only want to think about him. Steven. He's all you can see.

"You love it, Steven," you smile and your eyes are focused on him as if he is the only thing in the World.

He pauses, lips curled in a light smile as his eyes look upon you with a soft expression.

"I love _you_," he says, voice low and intimate.

You stare at him for what seems like an eternity before you finally nod, turning away before he sees the embarrassing smile that crosses your face. You're still not one hundred percent comfortable with hearing those words or telling them, but Christ you'd be a God damn liar if you said they didn't make you feel invincible.

You pat his arm and motion your head in the direction of your hotel, urging him to follow you as you hoist his bags over your shoulders and walk towards the end of the bridge. He strides alongside you as you walk along the streets of Dublin and for a brief moment you wonder if the passers-by see you both as companions or if they know what he is to you -What he _means_ to you- or the blood, sweat and tears you've both went through to get to this point now. The thought makes you want to reach down and touch the skin of his hand; wrap your fingers through his until the whole World knows you both belong with each other… but you don't. You can't. You don't think you're ready to do that and you're not sure you ever will be, but he doesn't seem to mind.

For now the whole World doesn't need to know…

0000000000000

When you both arrive back at the hotel room you are overwhelmed by the pumping of your heart as you look from the bed to the man beside you. He seems shy at this moment, a far cry from the talkative firecracker that chattered non-stop from the bridge to the hotel without even so much as a breath.

It's been a long time since you've both been in the same room, in such an intimate setting. Suddenly you are glad that you made the bed after the McQueen boy left, even though the shame of the memory still gnaws at your gut and makes you feel ill. You look up at Steven and he gives you the tiniest smile, which you return. You feel ridiculously young, like a teenager again, and angrily you wonder how you've managed to get so soft at your age. He seems to bring it out in you.

"This place is well nice, innit?" he says, distracted by the shining, polished wood of the oak bedposts. He runs a hand along the smooth surface.

You slowly walk over to him until your stomach is pressed against his back and you feel his body tense beneath you as his hand pauses on the wooden frame. He turns his head to face you and remains still as you wrap your arms around his waist and gently rest your hands on his long, slim torso. He closes his eyes and leans back into your chest as your hands slowly reach up under his pale blue jumper to touch the warm skin beneath. You press your face against his hair and inhale; he still smells of that strawberry shampoo he uses on his kids. You want to laugh at his miserly attempts to save money, but you don't want him to take it as a hint and change it. You like that he smells of strawberry jam.

Your fingers pinch and tease the skin of his abdomen as you trail your hands up and press your palms against his chest, resting them there as you tease his nipples with your thumb and index finger. He moans. Beneath your palms you can feel his heart pounding at a dangerous speed and your ears burn with the sound of his breath, hitching and wobbling, as he inhales and exhales at your slightest touch. You're positive he can feel your own heart beating too.

Finally you tear your hands from his skin and pull the jumper over his head, discarding it to the corner of the room. You trace a single hand down his bare, tanned back and smile as you feel him shudder against you. He laughs,

"Oi, that tickles!" he says, turning around.

Your bodies are millimeters apart.

You take in the sight of his bared chest and marvel at its definition. He's matured since the last time you were with him and the sight makes your eyes go wide and your mouth fall open with carnal desire. You try to hide it but he sees it immediately, your hunger for him, and in return he shows you just how hungry he is for you. He takes your face in his hands and pulls you in for a deep, long kiss. Your mouths fit together in a mesh of saliva and you push against each other frantically, damp skin against skin, as if there's not enough time in the World.

You reach behind him and grab his round, plump ass with both hands; massaging the globes like you imagined you would when you were both apart. You feel his hands under your jumper and you reluctantly pull your fingers from his body so he can tug it off you. Your skin tingles everywhere the boy touches and chills run through you where you can't feel his skin on yours. Your motions become quick and frantic as your hands trail over his body and you grab and squeeze any part of him that you can possibly get your fingers on. This feels urgent. It's been so long since you've had him in this way, completely yours with no hidden agenda or ulterior motives, just _yours_. The boy is supposed to be in America right now with Douglas but instead he's here, running his fingers through your hair, telling you he wants to be with you and you wonder if you've died in your sleep.

You wrap one arm behind his long, narrow back and pull him towards you whilst your free hand grasps his thigh. You silently urge him to wind his legs around your torso and as he does you can feel his cock growing hard underneath the thin fabric of his red trousers. You have to stop yourself from reaching down into his pants to touch it.

He is wrapped around your waist, clinging to you and kissing your neck hungrily as you lift him up and throw both your bodies down onto the bed. He is pinned beneath you on the cotton duvet and you bury your head into the crook of his neck and bite down, eliciting a hiss from him as you suck the sweet spot. You can taste the warm saltiness of his skin on your lips as his body jerks and writhes beneath you, letting you know that you're doing everything right. His arms fly up to wrap around your neck and he pulls you closer into the heat of his body.

"_Fuck, yes,"_ he hisses, "Please, Brendan_."_

The sound of your name falling from his lips causes you to reach down and unbutton his trousers. Slowly you kiss down his torso; leaving a wet trail as your tongue dances over his nipples and flicks the hard nubs in turn with an insatiable hunger. The boy moans and reaches down to take off his jeans, but you grab his wrists and quickly pin them above his head. He looks up at you with wide eyes and you slowly shake your head,

"No, Steven," you whisper, voice thick with lust, "… bad boy."

You look down at his face and slowly lower yourself until your lips press against his own. You open your mouth and let your tongue flick against his for a moment, warm and inviting, before you pull back. You ignore the groan of protest he gives as your lips abandon him, but he soon quiets and watches with wide eyes as you sit up and slowly unzip his jeans. You reach into the flap with your hand and stare with glazed eyes as his mouth goes slack and his body twitches; the feel of him writhing and squirming beneath you makes your skin tingle and nerves burn with fire.

You glance up at him for a moment and see that his eyes are dark and low as he watches you hover above his groin, ready and waiting. In one swift movement you reach over, hook your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans and pull the fabric down over his hips.

Stephen's cock springs up from the confines of his pants as soon as they are removed, just as perfect as you remember it. It's smooth and long and just the right amount of thickness. The head is already slick with pre-cum as you watch it, twitching in the air, straining for you to touch it.

"Brendan," he whispers, "_please!"_

His hands are knotted in the bed sheets and he groans because he knows that you will bat them away if he even tries to touch it himself. You bend down towards his erect cock and blow on the head, feeling the strain in your own pants intensify as Steven hisses with pleasure. You love having him like this, completely at your mercy, asking you to satisfy him in the only way a man knows how to satisfy another man. You grab his hips and pull him fiercely towards you, causing him to yell out in surprise and laugh that infuriating donkey laugh of his. Slowly you let the flat surface of your tongue slide up his length and over the head of his aching cock. His laughter immediately turns into a gasp and his body jerks and twitches beneath you as your hands hold his hips firmly in place. You look up and see that his stomach is rising and falling in an erratic rhythm; the sharp jut of his ribs sticking out like jagged splints as he tries to maintain control.

"Fuck!" he hisses, inhaling sharply.

You bob your head down once more and take his full length into your mouth. With eager fervor you lap up the very taste of him and marvel at how he smells exactly the same as you remember; tastes the same as you remember; everything preserved perfectly as if you'd never spent a day apart. You lean down and lightly tongue his balls, while your fingers wrap around his dick. Slowly you begin to jerk him off and every flick of the tongue is synchronized with each stroke as you expertly work him. You feel his body tense and spasm against you as he lets out a loud groan and you can hear the soft slap of your hand as it moves over him, jerking him off. The sound makes the throbbing ache in your pants intensify.

"Fuck Brendan, stop, I'm going to…"

You stop because you don't want him to release too soon. You're just getting started. You kiss up his stomach and trail your hands up his sides as he slides his fingers through your hair and guides you up to his lips. It sends a chill through you to think that he can taste himself on your tongue.

Suddenly he takes you by surprise and in one swift movement he pulls himself from under you, somehow managing to flip you over onto your back until he's got you pinned beneath his strong, tanned arms. You look up at him and can't help but let your mouth fall open in shock, unaware of what just happened. He smirks and sits up on top of you, a look of pride in his eyes, then traps your arms above your head at the wrist. You could easily flip him back over if you wanted to, but you're too overwhelmed with desire to even think about doing that.

"You learnt a thing or two?" You mutter, eyes fixed on him.

"Maybe," he smiles mischievously, with a glint in his eye and for a moment you're not sure if he's sent from Heaven above or Hell itself.

Either way you don't care.

He bends down and kisses you, wet and hard, and you hook one arm around his neck and pull him close as your mouths tackle for dominance. Eventually you let him win and your head falls back submissively as you let him take over the kiss. He grinds his groin against yours in a slow, steady rhythm and you can feel your eyelids flutter down as your blue eyes roll towards the sky in ecstasy.

"Steven," you mutter, when he pulls his lips from you.

Your faces are inches apart, eyes staring intensely at each other as if trying to convey a message through gaze alone. He leans down and kisses you again, this time slowly.

He reaches his hand down to touch the straining dick in your pants. You arch up and keep your hands above your head, fisted in the sheets, trying to show the same restraint you made him show earlier. His fingers tease you as he lets them run up and down your length slowly before gradually picking up speed. Your hips buck at the sight of him, naked with his hand down your pants, jerking you off. He stops for a moment to pull down your jeans, until no cloth separates you, then continues to let his hands dance along the length of your hot, swelling girth.

Steven leans down and lets the head of your cock press against his lips and it's only as his hot mouth envelops you that you suddenly realize how hollow all your previous conquests had been. In this moment you realize with perfect clarity that every single two-a-penny, one night stand was just a pale shadow of what you wanted all along. Him. It's always been him. There's nobody else in the God damn World who can make you feel like this, not just because he's fucking dynamite in the sack, but because he's the only man who has ever made you feel at all.

"Jesus Christ," you moan.

Your voice doesn't sound like your own.

His mouth bobs down on you, taking in your entire length in one mouthful before slowly letting his lips trail back up. You can feel his warm tongue massaging you as he works the head of your cock, knowing exactly how to do it to make you beg for more. You feel like a wild animal as he uses his palm to tease your balls and the noises you make sound almost feral as you tear your hands from the bed sheets and tangle your fingers in his hair. Your body convulses and you are powerless to control it, every movement a new gift to the senses. The need for him becomes so great the lines blur between pleasure and pain. You need to be inside him.

You sit up and reach out to touch his back. Your dick feels cold as he pulls his mouth from it and looks up at you. You see a fleck of your pre-come on his lip and you kiss it off him, unable to help yourself. You reach over to the bedside cabinet where you keep a packet of condoms and lube, amazed to think that you were ever going to use them on nameless twinks tonight, and pull one from the packet.

He watches as you slip the latex down over your cock, which is aching with the need to be inside of him. The moment your eyes rest upon him the World seems to stop as you both stare at each other across the bed. You let yourself take in this moment as your eyes travel down his perfectly toned body to the golden skin of his arms, while he sits cross-legged on the sheets, waiting for you to move towards him.

At that moment you think that he is the most beautiful thing in the World and for once you don't mentally batter yourself for thinking it. In the past you would never allow yourself to think something so emotional about another man; you thought it made you queer. When you found yourself watching him as he slept or when you couldn't stop the words from forming in your mind, you would mentally beat yourself for being such a fucking pussy. Now you don't care about right or wrong, all you know is that you want him more now than anything else you've ever wanted in your whole life.

"Lie down," you say, eyes dark as you look at him, "now."

He does as you say immediately. You think back to a conversation you had with Douglas months ago, when you were jealous and trying to get under his skin, you told him that Steven liked to be shown who's boss. The look of hunger in the young man's eyes now as he lies back on the pillows before you and spreads his legs only serves to prove that you were right.

You move towards him until you're slotted perfectly between his thighs and your body lurches over him as you look into his eyes. Slowly, never taking your gaze from him, you open the bottle of lube and pour a generous amount onto your fingers. You lean over him and steady your body with one hand on a pillow beside his head, as the other finds its way to his puckered entrance. You watch his expression twist with pleasure as you brush his hole with your fingers, spreading the lube over him as you massage his entrance gently.

Slowly you push one finger into him, smirking as a gasp falls from his lips and he cranes his neck up to kiss you. As his lips press to yours you enter a second finger, causing his back to arch and spasm as his mouth becomes disjointed from your own and his cheek presses hard against yours.

"Fuck me," he whispers, breathless, "now."

You reward his appetite with a third finger; stretching his hole and gently pressing him open until he relaxes against you. He's panting now and looking at you through lowered eyelashes, seducing you and challenging you at the same time. Finally you pull your fingers from him and pour a second, generous helping of lube onto your dick and position yourself between his legs. He breathes in deep as you press the head of your cock against his entrance.

You groan as the puckered hole gives way and, for the first time in a year and a half, you are inside him again. For a moment in time you feel complete as his warmth envelops you. You listen to his ragged breaths and your mind goes crazy as he whispers sweet, filthy nothings into the air around you- the sound is like music to your ears. You love how he becomes so lost when you are inside him that he shouts out the most obscene things in bed. You love the feel of his strong arms as they wrap around you and pull you in, until there's not a sliver of air that separates you. You want to be so deep inside of him that you can crawl up inside his skin and see through his eyes.

You slide yourself into him until you are fully immersed up to the root. He relaxes around you and slowly you pull back out, letting him get a feel for you again, then plough back into him deeper and deeper until he groans in ecstasy. His breathing hitches and becomes faster with each thrust as your bodies fuse together so perfectly that you feel like nothing can tear you away from him. A hot rush of blood courses through your veins with each pump and as you thrust deeper he rocks against you, synchronizing your bodies in a satisfying rhythm. You grunt furiously as the speed increases and suddenly you can feel yourself getting close. You need him to be with you.

You lean the weight of your body on one arm and reach down with your free hand to grab his hard length with your fingers; slowly you jerk him off. You look at him and marvel at the way his apple-flushed face shines with ecstasy as you stroke him up and down; his eyelids fluttering as you pump into him. You can feel his fingernails dig into your back as you adjust your hips until you are thrusting your entire length and girth into him in quick, speedy bursts.

You can feel him against you, tense and shivering, and you know he's close. In the last few seconds you lean down and touch your foreheads together and you can taste the sweat from his skin on your lips. With one final push he cries out and you can feel hot streams of seed spill onto your chest, as his whole body shudders and rocks against you. The aftershocks of his tightening muscles are enough to send you over the edge and with a final, ragged shout you release inside of him and fall against his chest as you both hold each other tight in the aftermath.

The only audible sound is the shallow, ragged inhalations you take as you both lie against each other; your spent cock still inside of him, joining your bodies together. You don't want to pull out of him, not yet, not when this moment is what you've wanted for so long and now you've finally got it. You never thought it was possible to feel this content.

Finally you detach yourself from his sweat-soaked body and pull the filled condom from your soft cock before you tie it up and throw it away. He stares at you as you walk back to the bed, naked and unashamed. Slowly you lie down beside him and wrap your arms around him, pulling him tightly into your chest as you bury your lips in his hair.

"That was amazing," he laughs, letting himself be pulled close to you, "I can't believe it's been so long since we last did that. Feels like no time at all."

You look straight forward, eyes fixed on a mirror at the end of the room where you can just about see your reflection. You look more alive than you have in months.

"Felt like forever," you mutter.

He looks up at you under long, dark eyelashes. His eyebrows furrow as he looks at your face and his eyes glance over your features as if he's familiarizing himself with someone he'd almost forgotten. You don't have to become familiar with his face again; every detail is burned into your memory.

"Did you ever think this would happen?" he asks; voice soft and low.

You look at him and there's silence as you think. You never thought for a moment this would happen. You never thought it was possible that this man could love you or that he would give up so much to be with you. Why would he? You're a screw up and you've only ever brought him pain and suffering, so why would he love you? Why would he give you any sort of chance? Why would he leave Douglas at an airport and travel over to Dublin to be with you, of all people? It doesn't make sense to you and you're not sure if it ever will.

"No," you reply, because the answer is that simple, "I didn't."

He looks at you then turns to face forward,

"Me neither," he finally replies, voice tinged with confusion, "well not always. I don't know, it's weird innit? It all happened so fast, I don't even really remember how we got to this point…how I got here."

A rush of hot blood flows through your veins and your heart pounds in your chest as you panic. For a moment you worry that he regrets his decision; that he realizes his mistake and that he's going to leave. He turns and smiles at you and you feel the anxiety dissipate.

"Why did you come here, Steven?" you ask.

The question shocks you, even though it comes from your lips. You look at him and he seems confused, so you explain,

"What made you decide…"

You can't finish the sentence, too annoyed by the weakness of it that the words dissolve on your lips… _What made you decide that it was me who you wanted? _

You don't have to explain though, he understands perfectly.

"There was just something missing," he finally answers, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, "with me and Doug, there was just something missing. I mean you just know, don't you? It wasn't the same…"

You don't answer. You don't think you're supposed to.

"I just thought about you…" he shrugs.

Your curiosity piques and you lean into him,

"… How much?" you ask.

He turns his head and looks at you, eyes shining in the shadow of the room against the dim lamplight.

"Only a bit, at first," he answers, "then towards the end I could hardly stop."

His eyes glitter as they gaze straight into your own and you love his honesty; when you ask him a question and he doesn't skip a beat to answer. There's no bullshit with Steven, he lays his heart out on a fucking plate and whoever does it like it can fuck off.

"… Did you ever think about me?" you ask, unable to stop yourself.

You had wondered for so long if he'd ever thought about you while he was with Douglas and the urge to ask outright seemed impossible to resist.

He pauses for a long moment and you can see the frown lines form between his nose, like they always do when he has to think hard about something. You wonder if he's going to answer you at all for a moment, then finally he replies;

"I messed up once," he says, brow furrowed as if reluctant to give away a secret, "a few months ago I was on my own in the flat and I had this dream. I don't even remember what happened in it but I woke up and Amy was standing over me with this look…"

You raise an eyebrow.

"Anyway, I asked her why she was in my room and she told me I woke her up because I'd been… sleep-talking."

"What were you saying?" you ask, even though your blood is boiling hot because you already know.

He looks at you with those innocent eyes and shakes his head, embarrassed. He pulls the bed sheets over his head and mutters,

"Don't make me say it."

You pull the covers lazily away with one hand and smile down at him,

"Come on Steven," you grin, "I won't tell."

"I was saying your name, all right?" he pulls his knees up to his chest like a child, "I was saying your name."

You feel a rush of blood course through your body at those words. It's the kind of thing you would have killed to hear back then, when the idea of being with Steven seemed like a twisted fantasy that would never come true. When you felt like the boy would never look at you the same way, or when it felt like –despite all your efforts- Douglas had won. Your heart clenches, but your face gives nothing away.

"Really?" you ask, matter-of-factly, "I can't imagine Douglas would have been too happy about that."

"Doug wasn't there," he explains, "just me and Amy."

You look at the boy beside you and cock your head to examine him. If you'd known that he was calling out your name in his sleep at the time, nothing could have stopped you from being with him… apart from yourself. Back then you didn't deserve him; saw him as a possession and something to be owned. You're glad you didn't know that he was thinking about you at the time.

"It wasn't easy, you know," he says finally, looking up at you with large blue eyes.

"What wasn't?" You ask, confused.

"Coming over here," he says, "it wasn't easy for me, all right? I was scared, I still am."

"You don't need to be, Steven," you mutter, so low you aren't sure he can hear you.

"I'm serious about this, Brendan," he says, and you love the way your name sounds in his mouth, "I'm dead serious. I want us to be a proper couple, all right? Nothing in the way, this time it's for good."

You nod as he speaks and you think back to a time when this kind of conversation would have sent a shiver up your spine and a chill through your bones. You think back to a time when you felt that the idea of two men possibly being in love was absurd, sinful and disgustingly wrong. The thought of touching a man, fucking a man or being in love with a man made you feel ill and made your fists twitch with the need to annihilate anyone who felt differently to you.

However, the thing that really made you feel ill -the thing that made you feel sick to your stomach- was the fact that you loved everything about it. In the dark of the night, when you'd wrap your hand around your cock and type the words of your elicit desires into the search engine, you'd arrive at the other side of your climax feeling like you wanted to scrape the unclean skin from your bones. Back then you used to shower three times a day just to try and feel clean, but nothing could wash away the memory of those two men fucking in your mind's eye.

You tear yourself away from the memory and arrive back in the moment. You stare at the man beside you and suddenly you realize that nothing feels unclean about him. In fact, he is the only thing that makes sense in this whole God damn world as far as you are concerned. The thought of living without him feels like the closest thing to Hell you can imagine.

"Yeah," you nod, "for good,"

0000


End file.
